


Mutant Chicken Salad (Comfort Food Remix)

by cygnaut



Category: X-Men: First Class (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1526258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has a hard time accepting help when she's sick. Luckily, Wanda knows just what she needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutant Chicken Salad (Comfort Food Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destroythemeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destroythemeek/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Chicken Soup for the Mutant Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/315688) by [destroythemeek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/destroythemeek/pseuds/destroythemeek). 



Jean starts coming down with something on Monday. She's exhausted and kind of achy in that way you get when you have the flu, but she assumes she's just tired from not getting enough sleep the night before. The next morning, she wakes up coughing and realizes that she's getting a cold. It's not so bad at first. She takes some cough medicine, and aside from a headache she feels okay for the most part. Thankfully, Tuesday is one of their classroom days when Professor X is too busy lecturing them to make them practice in the Danger Room. 

On Wednesday, she's not so lucky. She wakes up with a headache and the painful shivers that mean she has a fever. They have a Danger Room session first thing in the morning so Jean takes three different kinds of painkillers and cold medicine in hopes that she can get through it. She does okay for the first half hour, but then she almost drops Bobby when he gets thrown off balance by a swinging barbell. Jean reaches out to catch him, but her mental grasp slips as her head throbs with a fresh burst of pain. Angel barely managed to grab Bobby before he crashes into the cold steel floor fifteen feet below. 

"Whoa there, butterfingers!" Bobby shouts as he careens past in Angel's arms. "I almost became Ice-splat!" 

Jean rubs at her eyes, trying to lessen the pressure building behind her skull. "Sorry, Bobby!" 

_Jean, if you're not feeling well_ , _you shouldn't be in the Danger Room!_ Professor X says, interjecting from where he's watching in the control room. _When you fight in poor condition you're endangering all of your teammates._

"I don't feel that bad," Jean says, rolling her shoulders and getting back into a defensive position. "Bring it on!"

"No way, stop program!" Scott says, holding up his hands. "Jean, you're benched until you feel better!"

"I feel fine!" Jean says, trying not to squint as the lights come up and the brightness makes her head pound painfully. "And it's not your decision."

"Yes it is!" Scott says. "I'm team leader and I'm telling you to  _go to bed!_ "

Jean stomps out in anger, but she doesn't get far before she has to stop and sit down for a minute. Her head is swimming with dizziness. Maybe going back to bed wouldn't be so bad. 

The boys just don't understand. She already feels like she's struggling to fit in with them and prove her worth. She doesn't need to be sidelined for who-knows-how-long while she's sick. She's been trying to learn to lift herself and fly under her own power for months, and now she can't even lift stupid Bobby for ten seconds? Jean wishes for a moment that she could talk to Sue Richards again. She would understand Jean's frustration.

Or Wanda. Wanda knows what it's like to have brothers who mean well but don't really get you. 

Jean drags herself up to her room eventually and collapses into bed. She meant to change clothes, but the thought of struggling out of all that spandex right now is too tiring and she falls asleep still dressed in her uniform. 

She wakes up from a nightmare of being crushed in the Danger Room, the walls moving inexorably and suffocatingly closer until she gasps awake. She's hot and sweaty all over and there's the bitter taste of illness at the back of her throat. She rolls over with great difficulty and tries to get her suit unzipped. She tries using her telekinesis to pull the zipper down, but for some reason it feels incredibly difficult to grasp the tiny metal slider, even though normally it's a snap. After a few minutes of struggling she gives up and pulls it down by hand. Once she's out of her suit, she starts to feel cold. The sweat on her skin quickly cools and raises goosebumps all up and down her arms as she stands up and pushes her way into her bathroom. 

Jean shudders at her expression in the mirror. Her skin looks mottled, alternately too pale or blushed red under her freckles. She rests her head on the cool glass of the mirror and sighs. She definitely has a fever now. She feels lightheaded and fuzzy like she usually does when her temperature is raised. 

She could ask one of the boys to get her a thermometer, but she doesn't feel like listening to their bleating concern right now. All the tea and comfort in the world isn't going to make the infection go away any faster. The only thing to do is tough it out and get some sleep. Jean opens her medicine cabinet and takes some painkillers.  

After pulling on her nightgown, she climbs back into bed and passes out almost immediately. Her dreams are intense, the stressful kind that feel so real they start to bleed into her waking hours. Scott knocks on her door at one point and she sends him away, sure later it was a dream until she notices the cold mug of tea on her nightstand. At least she thinks Scott left it. It might actually have been Hank, who dropped by and tried to tell her about what she missed that day in class. She was too tired to listen and drifted asleep again while he was trying to explain something about DNA transcription. Or it could have been Warren, who woke her up in the afternoon to ask if she felt well enough for a drive and then pouted when she said no. Bobby came by too. He'd asked if she wanted an ice bath, but she told him to stop joking around and let her sleep. Professor Xavier had even intervened, checking in on her mentally in the morning to see if she felt well enough for practice.  

_Hm, not today, I think,_ he'd said, projecting his thoughts from somewhere on the opposite side of the mansion. She didn't bother to argue with his assessment. She knew from personal experience that there was no point lying to a telepath. 

Jean stares at the mug sitting on her nightstand and reaches out with her mind. She wants to take it into the bathroom to rinse it out, but she feels too tired to get up. Instead she focuses on the ceramic edges, imagining an invisible hand clamping around them and raising it up into the air. Her forehead wrinkles with concentration as the mug trembles and then lifts haltingly. Jean shifts as it makes its slow progress across the room, bobbing and weaving as her focus wavers. Tea sloshes over the sides with each clumsy movement. She makes it halfway there before a stab of pain in her temple makes her wince and lose her mental grip on the mug. It slips from her grasp and shatters with a loud crash on the ground next to the bed. 

Jean curses. She can hear voices outside, likely reacting to the sound of the mug breaking, but the last thing she wants is one of the boys to come in and clean it up while clucking over her. She suddenly wants to cry, which is stupid. She should get up and clean up the mug, not lie here uselessly simpering over it. 

There's a knock at the door. "Go away!" Jean croaks in response. "It's fine, I've got it." 

The door slides open anyway and Jean is ready to yell at whoever is invading her sickroom when she realizes who it is. 

"Oh, Jeannie," Wanda says, sighing at her as she takes in Jean's prone form on the bed. 

Wanda is wearing a long red cloak that Jean has never seen before. It's similar to her Brotherhood uniform, but made out of a soft warm fabric and trimmed with white fur. She's also holding a large wicker basket in her arms, which combined with the cloak make her look straight from the pages of a fairy tale. 

Wanda sets the basket down next to Jean on the bed and stoops to pick up the pieces of the mug. 

"I tried to lift it telekinetically, but I dropped it," Jean explains. "I can't think straight with this cold."

"This is why you should let your friends help you," Wanda says. 

Jean looks away and sniffles. Wanda's right, but it doesn't make Jean any more inclined to listen. "They don't understand," she says. 

"No, they don't," Wanda says. "But I do. And I brought you things."

"What things?" Jean asks, raising her head as Wanda lifts the white napkin that's draped over the top of the basket. Jean's head swims and she has to lean heavily on her arm as she sits up.

"Good things for sickness," Wanda says. "Jam and cookies and more tea—although maybe you are tired of that?" Jean manages a smiles at the gentle joke. Wanda is always so proud when she makes a joke. 

Wanda shifts around the contents of her basket, lifting a large thermus out and setting it next to Jean on the bed. Jean can feel the warmth from it against her side. Wanda unscrews the lid and a burst of steam releases along with the rich smell of broth. Wanda smiles. "Most importantly of all, I brought chicken soup!"

"You made me chicken soup?" Jean asks, feeling strangely teary-eyed at the thought. Her illness must be messing with her emotions even more than she thought. 

"Of course!" Wanda says. "Soup is the best cure for all illnesses. It's the same recipe my mother made for me when I was sick." 

Jean wants to ask _Which mother?_ but even as tired as she is, she senses that now might not be the best time. Instead, she waits quietly as Wanda rearranges the pillows and helps her finds a more comfortable position sitting up. 

Wanda passes Jean a spoon, but her hand is so shaky that most of her first spoonful ends up back in the bowl rather than in her mouth. Wanda doesn't hesitate, taking the spoon back and raising it to Jean's lips herself. Jean feels embarrassed at first—too weak to even feed herself. But Wanda looks so pleased to be taking care of her—and the soup tastes so good—that after a few bites she loses her self-consciousness. 

Wanda is not like the other X-Men or Professor Xavier. Jean always feels like she's failing the team if she's not at her best around them. She doesn't want them to think she's not pulling her weight. But with Wanda, it feels okay to let her weakness show. At least sometimes. And the soup really is very good. The broth is rich and full of large chunks of chicken and some kind of herb that tastes completely unfamiliar yet delicious at the same time. 

Jean eats a good portion before she pushes the bowl back, not wanting to risk unsettling her stomach. She feels better already, her head feeling clearer and her whole body warmed through. 

"If you get hungry later, I also brought cookies," Wanda says, taking out a small package wrapped in cellophane and setting it on Jean's nightstand. 

"Did your mother make these too?" Jean asks. She opens the package and takes a small cookie out, nibbling on the edge. If she only eats one it shouldn't upset her stomach _too_ much.  

Wanda nods. "Yes, although I put chocolate chips in mine. We didn't have much chocolate when I was growing up. But I think mother would like them. Pietro certainly does." 

"They're good! What else did your mother do for you?" Jean asks. 

Wanda looks away and Jean can see her worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Sometimes she would sing for us. She knew many songs, but when we were sick she would always sing the same one."

"Would you sing it for me?" Jean asks, trying not to sound too hopeful in case Wanda says no. 

"I don't know..." Wanda says. Jean can see a blush creeping up the side of her neck. "It's not the same. I'm not a very good singer and I am not your mother." 

"That's okay," Jean says. "I'd rather you be my Wanda."

Wanda's blush intensifies and she ducks her head as she smiles. It's the shy smile Jean likes best and it makes her feel warmed through just like soup did. 

"I will try," Wanda says after a moment of hesitation. She moves the basket down to the floor and takes its place sitting next to Jean on the bed. "But you must not make fun of me. It's in Romani."

"I would never," Jean says, settling back down on her pillow and closing her eyes. She moves closer to Wanda so her forehead is just brushing against her thigh. Wanda reaches across her and tugs the covers up over Jean's shoulder. She takes a long minute smoothing out the blankets and rearranging them, clearly stalling for time. 

"That's good," Jean says, snuggling down into the bed. Wanda sighs a little and settles back into her place leaning against the headboard. 

She starts very softly, her voice wavering and rough like it's been years since she last sang. It probably has been. Pietro and Wanda haven't had much reason to sing the past few years. At least not until they left the Brotherhood of Mutants and escaped Magneto's clutches.   

The melody is gentle and bittersweet, and Jean wonders what it's about. It sounds like something sad. She'll have to ask Wanda to translate it for her later. Maybe tomorrow morning since her eyelids are drooping. She feels sleepy and content now that her stomach is full and Wanda's here. 

Jean drifts off feeling Wanda's fingers combing through her hair and the sweet sound of her voice growing stronger as she warms to the music. 

She's half-asleep when Wanda finishes her song and moves to get up. Jean's not entirely sure if her _I love you_ was spoken out loud or in her head. Either way, Jean rolls over and mutters sleepily, "I love you too." She sees Wanda smile at her from the doorway before she clicks out the light and leaves Jean to drift into a restful, healing sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to unforgotten for betaing and to Kait who sent me the XMFC comics for a refresher.


End file.
